Be Brave and Be Kind

The past few weeks have been busy, especially compared to the very lax lifestyle I've been leading. I guess to sum up there have been friends from out of town, parents from out of town, Beatles night which was one of the best nights I've been to in a long time, going to the midnight showing of Eclipse and really enjoying it and not being too cool to admit that, writing in run on sentences like I usually do, house cleaning, house re-flooding, debating on finding a new house-ing, ultimately being to lazy to follow through on the former, working, making schedules for my entire staff at work and either being praised or turned on by the lackluster co-workers who I don't care too much for, and seriously, seriously debating getting a puppy. A friend of mine's dog just had a litter, and I went over last night to check out the group and literally fell in love. I've never had a dog, actually ironically enough Dillon and I had talked about getting a puppy together a month or two before finding out we were pregnant and ultimately decided we weren't ready for the responsibility that would entail (HA!). We aren't ready for another baby, not now and maybe not ever, but I'd love for him to have a companion. We have a fenced in back yard the little tyke could run around in, but with the stress of potty training (and failures thus far, ugh. "me love me diaper mommy! me no want to go potty!" etc), do I really want to add that whole new level of responsibility to the family? I actually kind of think I do. Our house is small but this puppy wouldn't grow to be more than like, 15 pounds or so. I could get him a cute crate to sleep and potty in, a lease, a collar, food, a little vet trip to make sure his insides are alright since he is a danschhaund (I cannot spell it and don't feel like googling it, so be it.) poodle mix according to Darrah. The best part of it all is there is no re-homing fee, and Darrah would gladdly take him back if we realize we aren't ready and he isn't a good match for our family. The only worries I have are obviously house-breaking, but he's so young maybe he'd be more receptive to my attempt than Adrian, and the fact that three days a week from 11-8 he would be home alone while I work. I'm still toying with the idea, but I want something new to love, I want something to help teach Adrian responsibility, I really just want a cute little doggy to add to the family. I think I've convinced myself, and plan on going to target to get all the necessary puppy items and find a local vet to make sure the tiny guy is healthy. I think I've sold myself, and Dillon, who was so completely against it at first, seems to be coming around to. So this time next week, I may have even less time to write, because with one hand I'll be chasing after Adrian running around the house naked screaming "ME NO WANT TO GO POTTY!", and with the other I'll be picking up a puppy who will inevitably be pissing on my floor. And that is kind of what I want! Luckily, we only have one room with carpet, so a little resolve should take care of everything. I'm both excited and scared. To change topics quickly, my tattoo artist is trying to get clients in the Nashville store, he usually work Murfreesboro but is trying to transfer to this store, which is perfect for me seeing as I never have the time to drive 45-an hour each way to make the appointment, then another day to actually get the work done, etc. He emailed me saying if I come into the Nashville store Friday the 9th (meaning I wouldn't work that day, but having a Friday off may be just what my soul needs anyway) he would give me a free hour for every two I pay for. HELL YES! Needless to say, I have an appointment on Friday July 9 and I couldn't be happier. Maybe I should hold off on getting the puppy until after that, actually, so as to not cover my arm in fur. Today was a lazy day, cleaned the house, played with Adrian, etc. Since we so rarely have groceries lately we are yet again going out to eat, trying out a place called Bailey and Cato's , it's a local meat and 3 meaning it's probably awesome. A lot's happened the past few weeks, and even more is bound to happen the rest of this summer with Brenda's wedding coming up, which I am really really excited about. I feel as though this is more like a letter to someone rather than a blog entry, because it's so personal and so ongoing with such a lack of general theme. C'est la vie, until next time, imaginary readers.

Apparently, urging your lazy, and yes I do mean lazy and not some other nice way of putting it, fiance to actually go to work after having two days off, makes me a bitch. Nothing I like more than busting my ass three or four days a week, 40 hours in those few days, driving an hour a day commute (to move out to the city where HE wanted to live, making HIS commute shorter), having to do all the babysitting arrangements, pick up and drop him off, and having the baby 24/7 my days off so his life goes on exactly as it did before I got pregnant. Going wherever he wants, whenever he wants, with whoever he wants for as long as he wants. Whatever, that's fine, I don't bug him about that, because I love my time with my son and can't imagine anything being more importantly or fulfilling. Whatever, I don't have dreams, so that's what I'm left with, living hundreds of miles from my relatives and friends, I'm a bitch. I'm a bitch because I have money, the way I've ALWAYS had money, and he doesn't, and since we're engaged that means he should be entitled to my not only working full time, taking care of our son any moment I'm not at work, keeping up with ALL of the housework aside from the occasional emptying of a fully clean load of dishes when I demand him to (not because it needs to be done, no, apparently a magical fairy comes around and does all the housework while I lay on the couch all day and allow Adrian to cook his own meals, change his own diapers, etc). And who gets bitched out when he can't find clean underwear? Oh, sorry, I guess the underwear fairy who came in and did all of three peoples' laundry washed three loads and only folded and hung up two, one is still cleanly sitting in the dryer, and god FORBID he do a single thing to make the magical fairy's life any easier. I'm expected to go above and beyond, always, and I get a guilt trip. I would be HAPPY to buy groceries if I had even a slight hope that perhaps next week, he would go ahead and buy the groceries. Fact of the matter is I work hard for my money, and to me, since we only contribute evenly when it comes to bills (somehow he always pays late anyway), I consider myself only responsible for Adrian and myself, which is a lot more than a lot of women would even agree to. When was the last time he spent twenty bucks buying Adrian a new toy, or new clothes, or even the two dollar more expensive good quality diapers that I gave him money to buy but he comes home with the cheap no name shit that leaks constantly. Who is home trying and urging our son to use the potty, while I get lip from his parents about how when her boys were two they were already potty trained.. YEAH, because you're primary job was housewife who had checks sent back to her all the time while she kept up the house and the raising of the kids. I'm responsible for everything, and that makes me the bitch because I don't agreeing with him calling out of work nearly once a week. Maybe if you didn't jam pack your off days with band practices and going out drinking with friends, I'd buy that you want to stay home and have a 'family day' and play with Adrian. Sorry, don't buy it, you'll use any excuse not to go to work because you hate your job, yet do absolutely nothing to try to find a new one. I wish he'd just go on tour again, everyone would be a lot less miserable. I guess it's moments like these when I feel like everythings on me I'm supposed to magically provide for everyone and keep everyone happy, but who's there to provide for me and keep me happy? When was the last time he skipped out on a chance to make money, spent money getting us tickets to a show he knew I'd like to go to, paid for the drinks , etc, just to try to put a smile on my face? Oh yes, never. Times like these make me question everything. I love him, but he has a free ride and always has and just refuses to accept that being an adult means doing things you do not want to do at times you do not want to do them because it is your responsibility. I guess I'm the one who's had to learn the hard way. I get zero appreciation, zero love, zero anything. All I get are dirty looks and comments made under his breath about my being a 'bitch'. This is twice in two months he's called me that and really meant. If you're so fucking miserable and I'm such a horror to be around, go ahead and leave. You don't contribute much anymore anyway. "Another uninnocent, unelegant fall into the unmagnificant lives of adults."

I'm unhealthily obsessed with the National. To the extent not only do I talk to anyone who will listen about them (including random guests I wait on at work who mentioned bonnaroo and I basically forced into agreeing they'd go watch them play) to listening to their albums all day long on repeat, to researching lyrics, analysis of lyrics, quotes about lyrics and the band, pictures, live footage, matt berninger, his wife, and I literally just typed into google "matt berninger carin besser's daughter's name", because I'm so curious. Curious is a nicer word than obsessed. Needless to say I will be waiting online from 9 am on the day the tickets to their show at the Ryman in October go on sale, I will pay top dollar for the best seats I can get, and I will have anxiety about this until I actually have a confirmation number to add to my craziness. At least my best friend in the world feels the same way. It's strangely comforting. I love her more than I'll ever love another friend. We're soul mates. And crazies.

Planning a wedding is not something I care to do, despite my being engaged. Let's just all go out to dinner, buy cute matching wedding bands, get the license, change my name on my drivers license and social security cards, and go honeymoon somewhere cool like Vegas or New Orleans. No huge ceremony costing way more than we can afford, no white wedding dress, none of that hullabalu. And my friend, being part of her bridal party, having to drive 45 minutes to get fitted for and pay nearly two hundred dollars for the dress, all of it.. ugh. Stressful. I don't have the time or the money. I considered getting tattoo coverup makeup, but there's no way, I am who I am and I'm not covering up myself or any part of me for the sake of someone else's photos. She can be such a bitch, I never noticed it before but I do a LOT more lately, especially when it comes to work, very.. I don't know.


I'm nice to everyone and I guess I'll just never understand what compels some people to act so mean.

Love is learned.

Last night work wasn't very busy. I could've stayed and probably made some decent money, though. But instead, since a friend came in and offered me thirty dollar tickets to the CMA (country music academy) fest, I figured hell, why not, Dillon will love it. So I spent sixty of the ninety something I made, plus paid for parking, plus paid for drinks. It was fun, although our seats made my seat's at the National show in Brooklyn look like front row center in comparison, and we got to see Josh Turner, Miranda Lambert and Keith Urban. Very fun. So, with that being said, why is it that I woke up with this aching feeling in the pit of my stomach like I really screwed up by going and enjoying a night out instead of working and saving money? Guilt, I guess. Needless to say I don't feel well at all today, I have an extremely long day ahead of me, and I'm ready to walk out the door although I don't need to be there for an hour and a half. Yikes. Why do I constantly have to reason with myself? I'm one extreme or the other with money. I'll go out sometimes with the intention of buying something very useful, like diapers, (not for me, yet, thankfully), and will somehow reason with myself at the time that oh, it's just money, who cares, you have enough, spend a little, it sucks to work and get to reward, blah blah blah, and before I know it I've spent all the tips I made the day before. And what do I have to show for it? Stuff! Stupid stuff that I don't need. And a small number next to my 'checking account' list on my online banking. And honestly, sometimes I really do feel it's ok to spend a little here and there, since my Forever21 got flooded out I haven't shopped for clothes other than while on vacation in New York, yet I still feel absolutely awful when I spend money. It's sick, I don't like it, my brain messes with my brain. Blah.

I blog more and more lately. I'm laying in bed next to my sleeping little boy, desperately trying to stay awake. If I nap, I'm dead. I have to sleep well tonight. I have to sleep early tonight. I have to wake up in the morning full of zest and energy. I have to make money at work, and, unlike so many other people's jobs, that does not simply require showing up. No, showing up is the easy part. Making conversation while tending to the needs of lots of tables of lots of people who have lots to say simultaneously can be a hit or miss financial venture. But I walk out everyday with cash, some days much more cash than other days, and I need that cash. There's a lot of fun happening this month, and I want to be a part of it. I really have been writing a lot, to absolutely no one, and it makes me feel a little crazy. Oh well, it's either this, or attempting to explain it to my 2 year old, who's response would most likely be something along the lines of "me go to school one day" or "me hungy". Ah, well.